


Xiang Ni

by poisontaster



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Confessions, Guilt, M/M, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-13
Updated: 2008-02-13
Packaged: 2018-04-23 01:17:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4857692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisontaster/pseuds/poisontaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>In the overcoming cycle (xiang ni) the enhancing element is too strong for the one being enhanced.</i> (A follow up to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4852622">Wuxing (Five Goings)</a>; A long time ago, maygra asked me what happened next, after Sam let go of the sword. This is what happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Xiang Ni

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Elementum Res. Progressus](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1224040) by [Maygra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maygra/pseuds/Maygra). 
  * Inspired by [Wuxing (Five Goings)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4852622) by [poisontaster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisontaster/pseuds/poisontaster). 



**_In the overcoming cycle (xiang ni) the enhancing element is too strong for the one being enhanced._ **

 

Dean only knows the words from movies; he hopes they're not wrong.

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned."

The silence goes on long enough that Dean wonders if the priest heard him. And then he wonders if there's a priest there at all. But through the grille that separates one side of the confessional from the other, he can see the shadow of a person and the weight of the silence tells him he's not alone.

Finally: "How long since your last confession?"

"I…" Dean shuffles his feet in the little booth, trying not to bark his knees. He's breathing much harder than all this deserves, like he's been running. He runs his hands over his thighs too, sweaty-palmed and lead-stomached. "I don't know. A long time."

Though Pastor Jim wasn't a Catholic, Dean has vague recollections of rituals of penance and absolution at his place, cleansing them for the year of hunting to come. But Dean barely remembers that. It's all just…feelings. Water trickling over his head, tickling behind his ears, down his neck. Herbs and incense. Heat of a bonfire making his face tight.

_(lightness)_

_(freedom)_

They were little kids then, him and Sam, and Dean's hardly set foot in a church since. Doesn't really know what he's doing here now.

The priest moves and a shadow crosses the grille, brushing the metal with a sound like cloth. He didn't get to see him, but Dean reckons the priest must be as big as Sam by the silhouette and the confessional isn't exactly roomy. He feels a momentary pity for the guy, stuck in such cramped quarters for hours at a time, listening to people boo-hooing over their petty everyday sins, looking for someone else to make it right.

Which Dean guesses is what he's doing, but this isn't exactly in his purview.

"Is there something you'd like to confess?"

"I…yeah." Dean scratches the back of his neck. "I don't know. Maybe this isn't the right place."

"Why don't you tell me what's on your mind and we can figure it out?"

"Well, I mean…I'm not like the rest of these people."

"What people?"

"The people who come in here, day in, day out, whining about their troubles. I know I've done some bad stuff. I'm not proud of it or nothing, but that's just how it is." Dean shuffles his feet again, kicks the footboard idly. Dust grits under his sole.

"So why are you here, if you're not seeking absolution?"

Dean sighs. This was stupid. He shouldn't have done this. Except he didn't know where else to go. Sam just wants to forget about it and nobody Dean's talked to has even heard of anything like this. "It's about my brother," he says finally.

"I cannot absolve sins by proxy…"

"No, no." Dean straightens up and bangs his elbow into the wall. "It's not like that. I'm the one that screwed up. Sam—my brother—is just the one paying for it."

"How so?"

Dean didn't think about this enough, didn't think about how to frame this in words the priest would understand. He might be a man of God, but that doesn't mean Dean could just waltz in off the street and start talking about angels and expect to get taken seriously. Dean knows that, he's not dumb. "He—my brother—he was like…called."

"Called? As in called by God?"

"Yeah." Dean chews his lip for a second. "Or…that's what he says, anyway."

"You don't believe him?"

"Hell, I don't know! What do I know about God?" He realizes he just said 'hell' to a priest. "Heh. Sorry."

The shadow crosses the grille again, obscuring the faded gold light from the other side. Dean wonders what makes him think the other guy is amused. "Go on."

"Yeah… Anyway, I talked him out of it. Out of leaving." Begged is more like it, on his knees and pouring his heart out:

_Please Sam. Please don't go. Don't let…don't let it turn you into this. You can fight it. I know you can. You're a Winchester, right? We've faced down worse than this. Don't go. You don't have to go._

"It seems to me that your brother is responsible for his own decisions."

Dean snorts. "Yeah, you sound just like him. But. It's not like that. I mean…he would've gone if it wasn't for me. And it wasn't right."

"How do you mean?"

"I mean I was being selfish. Sam… It shouldn't be for me. He shouldn't've stayed for me."

"And why not?"

This doesn't sound like any confession Dean's ever seen on TV. He knew he was doing this wrong. Priest probably thinks he's crazy. "I'm nobody," he says finally. It doesn't hurt to say it; it's a truth he accepted about himself a long time ago. "And Sam…Sam could be somebody great. I mean, he is already, he's my brother, but… You know."

"Yes, I know." Again Dean thinks the priest sounds amused and again Dean doesn't quite know what to make of it.

"Look, I just want to know if I can…take it back. Or if Sam can."

"Why would he want to take it back?"

"Because it was a mistake!" Dean's stomach rumbles. He's hungry, but he hasn't really been able to eat much, torn between the conviction he's screwed things up for Sam but _good_ and the awareness of what 'fixing' this will mean.

"What did Sam say?"

Dean blinks. "What did Sam say about what?"

"About why he chose not to heed his calling."

Another blink, with an added shrug. "Said he didn't want to. That…staying was more important."

"Staying with you."

Dean squirms. Now they're getting into some weird territory. Dean's not really prepared to talk about that end of things. He's not even that comfortable thinking about it, which pisses Sam off to no end. "Yeah. Or. Not _me_ , exactly…"

"What did Sam say?"

"He said…" Dean feels heat climb up in his face and oh, Jesus, he's blushing like a schoolgirl. "He said he didn't want to leave because of me. Because I'd be alone."

_"What here is worth refusing the gift he's being offered?"_

_"Me." Dean's chest feels too tight and his skin too small, feeling Sam slip away from him, seeing himself and the long empty years ahead of him without Sam in them. "I'm here. I need him. I…he's everything I have. I need him to stay. I need him to… I just need him. He's mine and I'm his and I need him._

"Sounds like your brother loves you very much."

"Well…" Dean tries to wrap his mouth around what he means to say, tangled up. This all seemed so much clearer before he got here. "Yeah, of course he does."

"And that bothers you?"

"No! No, that's not what I'm saying at all. I just… I took him away from something great, something amazing, maybe, and for what?"

"I thought it was Sam's choice to stay."

"Okay, but it was a stupid choice!" Dean's fist slams into the wood, hard enough he feels it in his shoulder.

The priest moves again and this time, when the shadow crosses the grille, Dean sees something poke through, pale and soft-edged. A moment later, it's gone. "Everyone is responsible for their own choices, Dean. It's the gift that God gave you when he formed you out of clay. Sam made the choice that _Sam_ wanted to make. Because he loves you. He loves you, Dean. And love is a wonderful gift to be given."

"Well, yeah, of course…" Dean pauses. "Hey. I didn't... How did you know my name?"

The priest doesn't answer.

Dean jerks the door open, exits the confessional and tears open the door on the other side.

The booth is empty.

"Can I help you, my son? Are you seeking confession?" An elderly and quavering voice behind him makes Dean whirl around. The priest behind him is a small and friendly looking man with a beard. He doesn't sound anything like the man Dean was talking to. Doesn't look anything like that looming silhouette.

"No." Dean takes an unsteady step backward, wipes his dry lips. "No, I think… I think I'm a little…turned around." He sees something in the corner of the confessional, on the side he abandoned. Dean bends to pick it up.

It's a feather, as long as his hand from wrist to fingertip, so white it hurts his eyes, even in the church's dimness.

"Eh? What's that?" The priest comes closer.

As Dean watches, the feather dissolves into smoke, leaving a faint tingle in his fingertips. "Nothing," Dean answers slowly and shakes his hand. "Nothing at all."

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to mona1347 and technosage for beta duties.


End file.
